Doctor Who: Why So Serious?
by TheBadWolfDoctor
Summary: Crossover with 'The Dark Knight'. The Doctor is called to Gotham City to interrogate the Joker, hoping that his experience with all sorts of maniacs will allow him to establish a connection with the mad clown.


Why So Serious?  
By James Stewart

In retrospect, the Doctor decided it had been a mistake to answer yes to the question posed by the clown-faced man sitting opposite of him at the desk; in his many years of travelling, the Doctor had encountered all types of insanity, every type of paranoid delusion, all forms of mental disorder, but the creature facing him was something entirely new: not mad, but uninhibited. Someone who saw himself as totally above and beyond the rules and regulations of civilised society. Someone who saw chaos and anarchy as ends in themselves, rather than as simply means. "You're different," acknowledged clown-face, with a grin that showed black teeth. Stained by carelessly-applied make-up, rather than decay.

"In what way?" asked the Doctor, wary of the answer he was likely to receive.

"Different to the others, the police, even the flying rodent," explained clown-face. He liked to refer to himself as The Joker and any other alias or identity was unlikely to ever be discovered. "They try to act as if they're unafraid of me, that I'm just another whack-job, but you are genuinely without fear. Those sappy brown eyes of yours say more about you than you'd probably like."

The Joker, whether because of the scarring around his mouth, or because of some tic or twitch that he cultivated, had the tendency to smack the roof of his mouth with his tongue whenever he spoke for any length of time. It allowed you too much time to see the black liquidity which leaked from his stained teeth, too much time to smell his foetid breath, too much time to see that this was a man who cared little for himself. "You've seen things that even I would probably find disturbing," remarked the Joker, giggling lightly to himself. "You've probably done things that even I would find offensive." A thought seemed to strike him and he licked his lips, taking the cherry-red gloss with it. "Is that why you're here? Did they think you could connect with me?"

"Perhaps," replied the Doctor, trying to act unphased as the questioning turned on him. He had been called here by an old friend of his, who had requested his help in dealing with the madman. Not that the Doctor considered the Joker to be mad, in any clinical sense of the word. "It's true, yes," he continued, smiling conspiratorially. "I've done many bad things in my life, some of which haunt me to this day." His big brown eyes watered slightly. "I feel guilt for what I did, though, which I expect you don't."

"No," admitted the Joker, leaning forward slightly and resting his cuffed hands on the table. "I don't feel guilty. I feel I've done a service in this town, brought a little entertainment. Life isn't serious, so why treat it as such?"

The Doctor stared into the Joker's narrow, black eyes; they may not have been black, but there was so much mascara around them, it was impossible to see their real colour. The man was all make-up; the white paint on his face, however, was smeared from sweat, and black beads dripped down from his eyes, along his cheeks. "The ending of a life, or several lives, should not be decided by the whims of one man."

"But I am not just one man," said the Joker. "One bad day, the right set of circumstances, and anyone can become me." He giggled, a staccato series of ho's and ha's and hee's, before continuing. "I am the dark side that lurks in all of the good, decent people of the world." He gazed levelly at the Doctor, watching the man's brown eyes, looking for a sign. "I think you know better than most what I'm talking about. Have you had a bad day? A day in which nothing went according to plan, the worst-case-scenario playing out time after time? A day in which you had to do something drastic to halt the madness?"

The Doctor's mouth ran dry; he mentally cursed himself for being so weak, for giving away more of himself to the Joker, just by using the wrong body language, than he had intended. "Yes, I've had a day like that. A day that I've since dedicated my life to atoning for. Maybe nothing I do will make up for what I did back then, but I won't succumb to my demons."

"It won't," said the Joker, licking his teeth and sticking his blackened tongue out at the Doctor. "Even if everyone else forgives or forgets what you did, you'll still remember, and you'll always be carrying that around with you. Forgiveness is not about making you feel better, it's about the scared, stupid people trying to comfort themselves at night, when the world they live in stops making sense and they need something to hold on to."

"I don't expect to be forgiven for what I did," retorted the Doctor sharply, "nor should I ever be. I do believe that there's more to life than chaos and pain, however. I could never believe that simply having one rotten day could turn someone into a monster. I've seen some despicable things in my life, but if you'll forgive the phrase, I've never met a person who was lacking such basic humanity."

"Do you want to know how I got these scars?" asked the Joker, gesturing as best as he could with his cuffed hands to the gashes along the sides of his mouth, his broad grin unnerving the Doctor. That was the question that the Doctor had been expecting; the Joker had already given two versions of this tale, and almost a third, both conflicting. It was unclear which one was the true account, if any, or if it was some combination of both.

"I want to know," replied the Doctor. "The truth," he added.

The Joker told him.


End file.
